The Clock
I don't know if I have That much time left There's an urgency Thumping on my breast I don't feel well And they don't know why Their test inconclusive Their guesses they belie The truth that's inevitable "No one here get out alive" So what do I do with myself For what can I strive? To peck and hen out words To make another poem? For if I don't complete these thoughts No one will ever know 'em. My epic will fall apart My legacy forgotten No one can read my writing These seeds will never be sewn. Yet, in a panic Poetics will fail These themes ill conceived Will just flop and flail So what do I do When money needs be made? To care for my family If I don't see the next day. Do I close up this book And say goodbye to this dream? Or do I take my last breath Trying to say what I mean?